McGriver
by Lu6cifer
Summary: This started out as a parody of MacGyver, but it tunred into something different.


1. McGriver: Beginnings

As a young boy, Philo McGriver loved to ice fish. He enjoyed it enormously, and often went up to Canada with his parents to do so. They fished in the winter, when the fish just kept coming and coming.

One cold, wintry day in December, McGriver and his parents drove up to the old cabin in Canada. They arrived at the cabin the next day, and had a good night's sleep before the ice fishing began.

When McGriver woke up, he saw his dad over a medium-sized hole in the ground. He was holding a fishing rod. His mother was still asleep.

"Hey son, why don't you come over here and grab a fishing rod?"

"Okay dad," replied McGriver. So he took a fishing rod and sat next to his Dad. They fished for 15 minutes in silence, before Mr. McGriver broke the silence.

"Y'know son, I've always believed that fathers should share their worldly experiences with their sons. It is a great, meaningful tradition. Now, keeping that in mind, there is this great trick to ice fishing that I would like to teach you. This trick will greatly increase the income of your fish."

"Really Dad? What is it?" asked McGriver eagerly. "Tell me, tell me please!"

"Okay. Now, this method was taught to me by my own father, and he by his father, and so on and so on. You must make sure to teach it to your son as well,"

"I will, Dad, just tell me, please!" As you can see, McGriver really did enjoy ice fishing, because he was so keen to learn that trick.

"Well, the first part is...ohhhh…god…" Mr. McGriver suddenly clutched at his crotch, eyes bulging and bugging. " 'Scuse me a sec Philo. I gotta go, y'know, take care of some business."

McGriver nodded and waited. He waited for seconds, then minutes, then hours. After his mother woke up, she asked McGriver on the whereabouts of his father.

"Philo, where's your father?"

"He said he went out to, you know, 'take care of some business,' but he hasn't been back in a few hours or so."

"Hmmm...Well, Philo, you stay here. I'll go out to look for your father."

" 'Kay mom." Responded McGriver, and crawled into bed again. It was 10:30."

Two hours later, McGriver woke up.

"Mom?" he asked. "Dad?" He looked at the clock. It now read: 12:34. "Mom, Dad? Where are you?" Sensing evil boding in the air, McGriver put on his custom made, heavy duty, North Face winter jacket, and headed outside.

"Are you guys out here?! Can you hear me?! Can anyone hear me?!"

Suddenly, McGriver stepped on something hard, but smooth. He looked down at the ground, and saw a dark green canteen, half-covered with snow. It was his father's canteen.

Picking it up, McGriver kept on walking. After a few minutes elapsed, he stepped on something small and hard. He looked at the ground, and saw a red pocketknife, buried in the snow. It was his mother's pocketknife.

McGriver was getting more and more anxious. What had happened to his parents? Where were his parents? Would he ever learn the great secret to ice fishing? But then, for a third time, McGriver stepped on something. This time, it was small and smooth, but not hard. It was a very smooth, white, leather clad pillow. It was barely visible in the snow, being sewn with white thread.

McGriver, as many people would, wondered what was in this pillow. McGriver would soon find out, because he had just found an ashen white zipper along the side of the pillow. He unzipped it, and pulled out several masses of white cotton. But then, McGriver found the jackpot of his pillow-delving adventure. His hands clasped onto a pitch-black key.

McGriver looked at this key with awe. He stood up, but then found out he could not. There was a doorknob blocking his way.

"What the heck is a doorknob doing here in the middle of Canada?" But then, he found his answer.

"Oh, right. The doorknob is here because it's affixed the huge, white door in front of me." Suddenly, McGriver was confused again.

"Wait, what the heck is a huge door doing here in the middle of Canada?" Once again, McGriver found his answer.

"Oh, right. The door is here because it's affixed to the huge, white building in front of me." And yet again, McGriver was confused.

"What the heck is a huge, white building doing here in the middle of Canada?" This time, McGriver did not get his answer, but he inserted the key into the keyhole, and opened the door; it would not open, rendering the key utterly useless. He tossed the key away, far into the depths of Canada, or perhaps the zenith, I do not remember. At any rate, he waited many more minutes for his answer. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, then sixteen, and finally, seventeen minutes passed.

On the seventeenth minute and thirty-sixth second, a man dressed in white opened the stark white door.

"Come in Mr. McGriver, we have been expecting you." Normally, a kid of eleven years old would not follow a total stranger dressed in a white suit, in a stark-white building, in the middle of snow-white Canada. But, seeing as McGriver had apparently lost his parents, and his common sense as well, he agreed.

"Alright," he said, and walked inside. The room inside was a toned tan color, with three yellow doors at one end, and a black staircase, which led to the second floor.

"Master McGriver, you wait here. The Director shall be with you shortly. So, McGriver waited, for was certainly not shortly. Then, a man dressed in a green suit jacket, and pink, florescent trousers walked down the staircase.

"Good Day to you, Mr. McGriver. I trust Bogarty treated you well?" said the man from the staircase.

"Oh, was he the--"

"Yes, he's a splendid butler. Terribly efficient, but admirably modest. Care for a spot of tea?" asked the man, extracting a tray of teacups and saucers from behind his back.

"N-No, I don't drink caffeine…Hold on, how did you guys know my-"

"I suspect you don't drink caffeine, and I also suspect you want to know how we know your name? Well, then follow me!" said the man, as he put the tray behind his back, walked back up the staircase, and shouted, "Bogarty! Bring the bag!" McGriver followed the man throughout what seemed to be the entire building. The butler Bogarty followed closely behind, with a bag in his hand. Finally, they stopped at a red door.

"Well, we're finally here! I'm off. Bogarty, if you will," said the man as he left. Meanwhile, Bogarty opened the door for McGriver.

"Please step inside, Master McGriver.

"Wait, I thought that guy was the Director."

"No, that was the Presider of Non-Directors,"

"Oh,"

"Now, step inside, chop-chop! By the way, would you like me to take your coat?" asked Bogarty.

"No thanks, I'm fine," said McGriver, as he went in and closed the door. Inside, McGriver saw a bare, orange room, with nothing but a desk, chair and lamp. There was presumably, a man in the chair.

"I assume you are the Director?" asked McGriver as he walked up to the desk. The chair turned around, and there was the Presider of Non-Directors, but in a pink, fluorescent suit jacket, and green pants. "Hold on! You're the Presider of Non-Directors!"

"No," replied the man, "I am the minute younger twin of him. I am the Supervisor of Non-Presiders. Please follow me to the Director."

"Alright...?" said McGriver questioningly. But, he followed him, right back out the door. Then, the Supervisor stopped.

"Bogarty!" he shouted. Bogarty came again, still holding the bag in his hands. "Bogarty, if you will," said the Supervisor of Non-Presiders.

"Yes, I will." He replied, and walked back into the orange room, and came out with a briefcase, along with the bag.

"Shall we continue?" asked the Supervisor of Non-Presiders. But he didn't wait for an answer. He walked, and they followed for many more minutes before the entire group came to a wooden door. This door was far worse than the rest, because it had not been painted at all. You could see the knots in the wood, and the coarse grain. It looked fresh off the assembly line.

"Bogarty, please open the door,"

"Yes," replied Bogarty, and started for the door.

"—Wait!" interrupted McGriver. "I think I know what to do." He said, as he opened the door, and walked into—a sack of coffee beans.

"Oh?" inquired the Supervisor of Non-Presiders. "You know what percent milk I like in my coffee?"

"Coffee?" asked McGriver, "What coffee?"

"Why, the one in my hands," said the Supervisor of Non-Presiders, as he took a full mug of coffee from his pants pocket.

"U-uhh..sorry,"

"Apology accepted," said the Supervisor with a smile. "Bogarty, the 2 please."

Soon, after the coffee break, they were off once more. This time, it was a green door.

"Well, I'm off," said the Supervisor. "To you, I bid adu."

"Go on in, Master McGriver." Said Bogarty, opening the door. McGriver went in, and saw complete darkness.

"...where is that button...where is that darn button..." muttered a voice.

"H-Hello?" asked McGriver

"Oh, Mr. McGriver, you've arrived. Just let me...Yes!" A switch was flipped, and the light went on. McGriver looked, and saw a man clad in a turquoise jumpsuit.

"You're the Director?"

"Me? Oh, Heavens No. I'm just the janitor, the Ruler of all Non-Supervisors. I was fixing the fuse box in this room. It was broken."

"Oh, then where's the Director?"

"Hold on, let me get him," said the janitor. The janitor faced away from McGriver, unzipped his jumpsuit, and stepped out as the Director, clad in black.

"Wait a second, you're the Director and the janitor?"

"Oh yes. You see, it's an ingenious way of balancing the power in our system. I am sometimes the leader, and other times the follower. This way, the other leaders can control my power levels if I'm corrupt. Besides, the position of janitor is quite surprisingly, a very relaxing job. Well, anyway, onto business. Mr. Philo McGriver, I assume, or presume, or take for granted, that you must be very confused, even flabbergasted and confuddled. Let me explain everything.."

2. The Long-Winded Explanation, Usually Found at the End of the Story.

The Director/Janitor sat down in his office chair, and offered, perhaps proffered a chair for McGriver.

"Sit down, this will take a while. How about some tea?" McGriver pondered and deliberated, and mulled it over. But he definitely mused for a while.

"Sure,"

"Alright then. We have Green Tea, Black Tea, Red Tea, Iced Tea, Darjeeling, Ginseng, Tie Guan Ying, Chinese National Brand Communist Tea, Marijuana Tea Leaves, Manyo Tea, and finally, Organic White Tea."

"Organic White Tea? What's that?"

"Oh, it's actually something Bogarty grows. He uses this unknown tree bulb, plants it in an unknown soil, and a known color leaf, white, sprouts out of those branches. It tastes oddly like sugar, perhaps cocaine mixed in with pigeon excrement...but anyway, what tea is your preference?"

"How about...Red Tea?"

"Absolutely," said the Director/Janitor, and pulled out a table and tablecloth behind his back. Then, he stood up, and with eyes skimming the floor, stomped on a floor tile. It popped up, and he pulled out a tray of teacups and saucers.

"Red Tea, here you go." McGriver hesitantly took a teacup and drank deeply.

"Let us start from the very beginning. In 1776, when our great nation was born, many...secret agencies were founded to ensure the further protection of our nation. Among these agencies were the League of Everyday Object Crime Fighters and Problem Solvers. The LEOCFPS solved daily problems and fought crime with everyday objects. Things like paper clips, scissors, compact discs, Legos, and galoshes. Every time an LEOCFPS agent passes away, or is killed in combat, scouts are sent out to "gather" new agents for the greater cause of this nation. Unfortunately, your parents were killed while on a annual mission to Northern Canada."

"Ohhhh...They're dead? But-But..."

"Do not fret, you're receive a pleasant surprise after this explanation. Anyway, your parents' mission was to regulate the quantity of moose in Canada."

"...Huh?"

"Yes. You see, every year, in Canada, moose crossings have caused numerous car accidents. For some reason, they always appear when a car is driving along the road. From fifty feet away, the people in the car can see the moose walking alongside the road. Then, when they get closer, the moose just steps into the middle of the road, like he's asking the car to hit him. This can seriously injure, or kill a moose and the people in the car.

So, every year, your parents, along with a group of other people were asked to drive up to Canada and bring a couple hundred moose into this building here. That way, the roads of Canada shall be safe once more."

"...Wait, then how did my parents die?"

"What? Oh, they haven't, that was just for drama. However, we are unable to locate them. A moose seems to have kidnapped them, and taken them away into his forest."

"But-But, then what am I here for?"

"Because of your parents'...absence, we here, and LEOCFPS have decided to take you in as an agent. A junior agent, one that will learn all the secrets to using everyday objects to solve problems and fight crime. Now, any questions?"

"Yes, what crime do I fight? And-And what problems do I solve?"

"Those will be answered shortly. Now, any more questions?"

"Yes, why are the rooms so...monochromatic?"

"Ahhh...you have found our Achilles's Heel. Well, the people at LEOCFPS have but one weakness: We like to buy expensive things. Because of this, we couldn't afford many buckets of paint to paint our walls. Also, that is the real reason why LEOCFPS fight with everyday objects: We can't afford weapons."

"Alright, Alright. Where am I going?"

"First, you shall take a preliminary test. You see that door over there?" The Director pointed to a door by the upper-right corner of the room. "Walk through that door, and there will a man with a problem. He will ask you to solve his problem, and you shall attempt to solve it with nothing but the everyday objects found in that room."

"Okay...Let's see..." said McGriver, prepping himself. "I'm ready,"

"Very well, you may enter."

3. The Intractable Door

McGriver walked in the door, and saw a huge hotel. A hotel with chandeliers, a huge lobby, and expensive, extravagant carpets. It was a hotel where snooty rich people walk in and out, holding their poodle or Chihuahua with two-carat diamond leashes. Yes, all that stuff in the middle of Canada. The outlier was a man trying to slam a revolving door. He walked closer and saw that the man was seemingly delusional. He had frowzy, Einstein trademarked hair with an elongated, 5-foot long beard, was wearing antiquated clothes, and quite frankly, looked like a hobo from the street.

"Did they send you?" He said quickly, with a trace of insanity in his voice. "Did they send you to fix my problem?"

"I-I guess. What's your problem?"

"My problem? MY PROBLEM? Did you know that LEOCFPS deliberately avoided my predicament for 7 YEARS just so they could leave it for a junior agent to solve? Hmmm? NO! I guess you DIDN'T! And THAT is my freakin' problem!"

"Wha-What is your predicament?" asked McGriver with fright.

"7 years ago, my wife and I were on our honeymoon. We rented a suite in this hotel. We pulled up, and I realized we were missing some, oh...birth control devices, if you know what I mean. So, I tell her that I'll pick some up, and I told her to go with our bellboy to put away our luggage. The hotel did not have a pharmacy, so I had to drive 30 minutes to the "nearby" pharmacy and pick up some of those birth control supplies. I get back, walk up to our suite, room 302, open the door and find my wife screwing with the bellboy! We were on our friggin' HONEYMOON and she slept with the BELLBOY!

And I'll tell you what I did next. I strode out of there, and slammed the suite door. Then, I walk right out of the hotel, and slam this door right here. Except, there's one problem, I can't slam it! It's a REVOLVING DOOR!! It won't slam! I only had one satisfactory slam and I **never** got to hear the other slam. You have absolutely _no_ idea how frustrated, how little closure I am feeling! I can assure you, it is a horrendous, horrible thing to bear."

"So...What do you want me to do?" asked McGriver.

"I would like you to relieve me of this curse! Find a way to slam the door! Set me free!" McGriver nodded, and pondered this for a while. Then he deliberated it for a while, and contemplated it. He finally came to a conclusion, one very surprising, and very shocking as well.

"Mr…"

"Argollas, call me Argollas."

"Mr. Argollas, please follow me," said McGriver in a very controlling demeanor. "If you'll just follow me out this revolving door."

"But, you're supposed to-to slam—"

"Yes, I realize I must slam it, but first, please follow me," repeated McGriver. And Mr. Argollas reluctantly followed McGriver through the revolving door, and outside to the cold, chilly Canadian air.

"What are we doing out here?" asked Mr. Argollas.

"We are going to do an exercise in which the idea of slamming a revolving door will be expelled from your mind,"

"How the heck are you going to do that?" asked Mr. Argollas skeptically.

"Okay, this is how you start the exercise: Stand right in front of the door. Not to the left, nor to the right, the approximate middle of the door,"

"Alright," said Mr. Argollas, standing in the directed position.

"Okay, the next part of this exercise will incorporate a bit of secrecy. I will first blindfold you with this handkerchief," said McGriver, looking around, and pulling out a red handkerchief from the shirt pocket of Mr. Argollas.

"That's all fine and dandy, but what's it for?"

"Ahhh…that's the secret part," said McGriver, tying on the blindfold. "Stand out here, wait for me to come back, and I shall tell you the next step."

"Wait—Wait, what do I need to do?"

"Just stay here, and wait for me to come back," said McGriver with complete calmness. Then, McGriver promptly walked back through the revolving door. He browsed for the elevator, and selected the third floor. Then, he found room 302, and following a hunch, opened the door.

"Wow, are you two still here?" asked McGriver with complete surprise. His hunch was astoundingly correct: Mrs. Argollas and the Bellboy were still in bed, after seven years. Mrs. Argollas looked up from under the sheets,

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

"I am Mr. McGriver. I have been hired to help your husband slam a revolving door."

"Ohh…" Her face fell. "So, you're not his lawyer?"

"No…" replied McGriver with confusion. "Why would I be his lawyer?"

"It's just that I hired my lawyer 7 YEARS ago! Our divorce was supposed to be 7 YEARS ago, and I should have been married to Juan here 7 YEARS ago!"

"Juan?" McGriver asked inquiringly.

"The Mexican Bellboy," replied Mrs. Argollas, nodding to the man on the bed.

"Mrs. Argollas, I sincerely apologize for these…hindrances. But, you see, your husband is incapable of filing divorce papers, let alone hire a lawyer simply because he is obsessed with the idea of slamming a revolving door,"

"Oh…so he was the one shouting so raucously in the middle of the night?" Surprisingly, Juan spoke up.

"Oh…no, was me…am…containing…stone of the kid's knees." Said Juan, displaying his poor understanding of the English language. However, Mrs. Argollas gasped.

"My, my dear, why didn't you tell me? Now we'll have to—"

"Juan, Mrs. Argollas, could we please focus on the topic at hand?" McGriver paused, and saw that he had their undivided attention.

"Okay, it is clear to me that we must solve your husband's obsession with door slamming. If you, Mrs. Argollas would just go back to him, everything would be hunky-dory,"

"But I won't, because he's a self-centered, egotistical bastard."

"Yes, you've made that very clear. Anyway, we must solve his obsession, and at the same time, maintain your relationship with Juan," McGriver paused once more for any objections. There were none.

"Then, would you two kindly put on some clothes, and follow me downstairs?"

When everyone was downstairs, McGriver told Mrs. Argollas and Juan to wait outside, while he went outside to Mr. Argollas.

"Mr. McGriver, is that you?" asked Mr. Argollas, hands snatching at the air like a zombie.

"Yes, it's me Mr. Argollas. Now, today, you are going slam this door. Yes, you heard me correctly, you will succeed in slamming a revolving door."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. Argollas, with much enthusiasm. "But, um…how?"

"Well, first of all, it is _imperative _absolutely _imperative _that you do not take off your blindfold. I will go inside, and when I tell you to slam the door, slam it." McGriver directed his hand to the revolving door, enabling him to slam it at will. "Other than that, wait, just wait…" McGriver walked around outside, and perused the ground. He found a pitch-black key half frozen to the ground.

A few minutes later, McGriver walked back inside with the key in his hand. He walked over to Mrs. Argollas.

"Mrs. Argollas, would you be willing to offer me assistance?"

"How?"

"It is very simple. Go out to your husband, but under any circumstances, do not say a single word. Okay?"

"Okay,"

"Good." Mrs. Argollas pushed the revolving door, as

McGriver grasped the key in his hand. After she went outside, and Mr. Argollas redirected his hand onto the door, McGriver blindfolded Mrs. Argollas as well.

"Mrs. Argollas," he quietly whispered to her, "You must be blindfolded. In case Mr. Argollas slips his blindfold off, and sees you, he will not completely recognize you because he won't be able to see your eyes.

"O-okay," she answered, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Wait, just wait for now." Afterwards, McGriver walked away, and muttered quietly, to no one in particular.

"Now, I need a scapegoat. He looked around the room, and promptly shouted, "Oh Juan!" It appeared Juan was marveling at the magnificent red carpentry of the hotel. It also appeared that he had Juan ran over to McGriver and asked,

"What is master be needing so soon?"

"Juan, could you turn around? Just kind of turn around so I can see the back of your shirt," Juan looked baffled, then, as if he spontaneously understood him, nodded and smiled rapidly.

"Good." Juan turned around, and McGriver took out his black sharpie, and wrote something on the back of Juan's shirt. McGriver turned him back, and smiled at him. Then a voice called,

"Oh, Juan!" it was the receptionist, whose name was Carol Call. "Juan, could you relieve me? I've got to go, it's an emergency," Once again, Juan nodded with the expression of completely clueless. Carol call promptly left the hotel through a non-revolving door.

"Juan, wait, not yet," Juan was heading for the receptionist's desk, "Nobody's going to check in at this hour of the day," So he waited, and McGriver told everyone to wait as he gathered a few more everyday supplies. Searching the basement, he brought up a cup, some duct tape, and a packet of soluble rat poison.

The Director/ Janitor was wondering. He was wondering a lot of things, like who plays the voice of "Clifford, the Big Red Dog," or, if the other leaders were backstabbing him by having an affair with his wife, but mostly he was wondering what McGriver was doing in there. It had been two hours since McGriver entered the hotel. This assignment was fairly simple; you just had to slam the revolving door. He stood up, opened the hotel's side door, and walked in.

One hour and a half after the Director had opened the door the police arrived. The recipient of the 911 call, Officer Joe Brady had just sat down on a five-minute coffee when a man called about two people suffocating to death in a revolving door, and a Latino, lying dead beside them. He was given the rest of the details as well.

When Officer Brady asked for the location, he realized his coffee break would be extended quite a bit longer. About an hour or so later, Officer Brady and his squad arrived at the hotel. And indeed there were two departed souls, lying suffocated within the revolving doors, for there were many layers of duct tape covering the doors before anyone could turn them and get inside.

But the duct tape was not the major impedance to their entrance. They still had a huge dilemma staring them right in the face. The dead bodies could not be moved. The most important rule of a crime scene, is that you should not touch, or move anything in order to keep the evidence and intact. If they rotated the revolving door, the dead bodies would not be in their original position. They would, in fact, be pushed out of their position by the revolving door.

Meanwhile, the Director was certainly not helping this perplexing situation by standing on the other side, screaming for them to come over, raving about their disability to open a door, and shouting about what the hell were police good for anyway. In fact, when the director saw the police walking away, assuming that they had better things to do, when, in fact, they were searching for alternative entrances, it did not in his mind, behoove their reputation.

Officer Brady walked around the hotel, and did find another entrance. He and his squad promptly walked inside and—

"—the hell are stupid police good for anyway? I call them, reporting three deaths, and they just freakin' walk—oh!" The Director had suddenly seen the police squad standing by the hotel's other side entrance.

"How nice of you to come," stated the director sarcastically. "Why in the hell would you walk away like that? I specifically told you, this hotel, and specifically jumped up and down, shrieking at you from inside, _clearly_ requesting you to—"

"I understand that, Mr…?" cut in Officer Brady.

"The Director,"

"Very well, Mr. Therector, we could not come through the revolving doors, because if we had, crime scene evidence would be moved, and you should never mess around with the evidence."

"I don't see how—"

"You should _never…"_ said Officer Brady, as if he was explaining it to a toddler, "…_never_, _ever_ tamper with crime scene evidence." The Director did not want to admit to his mistakes, at least not directly, so he nodded in a whimpering sort of way and said,

"Very well, carry on," and left the room to their business, while he did some more pondering. The fact that nobody stopped him shows how well trained this police force really is.

"Alright boys, let's see what we got here…" started Officer Brady, talking to his audience of police officers. "Detective Sherman, would you like to continue?"

"Certainly," he replied. Detective Sherman wore a stereotypical trench coat, huge, black-rimmed glasses, but a disheveled appearance. He stepped out, and continued, "We have two people, male and female, apparently suffocating to death in a revolving door. Many layers of duct tape were applied to the door to suffocate, and prevent the victims to move the door. A Mexican bellboy, most likely named 'Juan,' given the name of his nametag, lies on his stomach, dead. He is around 5 yards away from the door, and three words, 'I did it,' has been printed on his back with black sharpie. A cup, formerly filled with a liquidly substance stands a foot away from him."

"W-Well," spoke up a novice, young officer named Todd, "What I think is Juan killed the two people, then killed himself, printing 'I did it' on his bellboy vest to signify that he did the deed," Suddenly, there was much commotion, quiet commotion among the officers. Many of them were chatting about what they thought had happened here, others talked about mathematical or physical ways that this could have happened. Then, there were the others, who really could care more about the position of Saturn in the night sky, rather then another boring murder.

"Interesting observation…ummm…Todd? Is it?" said detective over all the banter.

"Uh…correct, sir."

"Well, to confirm this, will someone go call that kind, old fellow back for questioning?"

"You mean Mr. Therector?" spoke an Officer named Stanley Andrews.

"Yes,"

"I can go—" But suddenly the hotel's side door burst open. The Director was there, woozy, frowzy, and holding a bottle of rum.

"You…you guys are…so…so dumb," he slurred woozily, "I-I-I-I mean….it's obvious that….I…I am really Charles Darwin!" He exclaimed, as if he just had an epiphany.

"Get him outta here!" bellowed Officer Brady. A couple of the young officers eagerly went to The Director and led him out the doors.

"Okay, it's evident that Mr. Therector is unable is aver anything as of now, he is mentally incapacitated. Do we have any other witnesses, any other hotel guests to question?" He looked around. They all had a shoulder-shrugging expression on.

"Wait!" this time it was the apprentice of Detective Sherman, Mr. Donald Cleaving, Amateur Detective. He was by the check-in desk, and holding a thick, black binder. "I've got the check in/check out list. We can browse these for potential witnesses,"

"Splendid idea!" exclaimed Officer Brady, "Shame my officers didn't think of that," the junior officers grumbled with disgruntlement. They went to the black binder and looked through it for attendees of the hotel who may checked in/ checked out, or resided in the hotel between the times of one-thirty and three-thirty. There were three people who fit this category. Also, they kept in mind to call up Carol Call, the receptionist.

"Well men," said Officer Brady. It appeared to be all men, Rhonda just had her sex change last week, "Detective Sherman, I, and a few others will stay here to run forensics. Andrews, Todd, you take witnesses one and two, Jimmy Robbins and Gordon O' Riley. Armian, Callaghan, you take witness three, Abigail Jerkins and Carol Call. Both groups will be given their personal and public phone numbers. Also, Cleaving and Manning, you will be responsible for interviewing…" Officer Brady looked down at his notes, taken en route to the hotel. "….interviewing Bogarty, the butler, the Presider of Non-Directors, the Supervisor of Non-Presiders, the Ruler of Non-Supervisors/ Janitor, and the Director. Meet back here at nine o clock sharp." It was six o clock now. They had been given their assignments, and given the time at which to return.

"Oh, wait!" shouted Detective Sherman, "Someone needs to find McGriver,"

ANDREWS TODD—JIMMY ROBBINS and GORDON O' RILEY

…to be continued

Stanley Andrews and Nathan Todd worked together pretty well. Todd had beautiful navigation skills, drove as fast as hell, and he could break pretty damn fast too. So naturally, Todd was driving the squad car today. He and Andrews were looking for Jimmy Robbins and Gordon O'Riley, two business associates currently on their way to becoming huge, corporate, business partners. They had an ingenious plan with all the formulas and blueprints all drawn up: They were producing amnesia-preventing pills. "Forget-Free," they called it, or for short, "For-Free." Though the two did not notice it at that time, the nickname "For-Free" was sure to cause some advertisement confusion.

Todd was pushing eighty, and he had the siren on as well, just for the hell of it.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!WEEEEEEEEEE!!!" He howled at the top of his lungs, head sticking out of the window,

"God, you gonna do that for the rest of the trip? The Yukon Territory's still like, thirty minutes away," complained Andrews. The Yukon Territory was where Robbins and O'Riley presumably resided, after all, that's what was written in the binder. The binder said, "556 Exertion Road, Canada, no zip code, Yukon Territory, Home of the moose and the wolves, no Inuit residents,"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" Bellowed Todd once more. He was massively hyper today.

"Shut up Todd! Do that again and you just might hit yer head on a friggin' tree or something,"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"I said—"

"WOOOOOOOOO!!WEEEEE—" the 'wee' was promptly cut off when Todd suddenly bashed his head against a tree.

"I told you! What'd I tell you, huh?" boasted Andrews, looking over at the injured Todd. He was sitting lax against the driver's seat, blinking slightly, and looking, quite frankly, demented.

"Todd? Hey, you alright man?" asked Andrews anxiously. Todd said nothing and lifted his arm in wonder. What is this? He wondered. What are these stick like things at the end of this? He wondered.

"Todd? Is-Is your head alright?" Todd slowly looked at Andrews. He stared a moment, then,

"Aaaagggaaahuh?"

"What?"

"Aaaagaahuh! Aaagahuh huh huh hualk!"

"What are you talking about?"

Todd guided his hand with his eyes and directed toward the car's—window? No, seat belt? No, not that either. He couldn't recall, it was this small, standing black thing…it had an indent in it…Aha!

"Todd? Are you trying to open the door? What the hell's going on?" Todd finally got his hand on the black thing with an indent. Then he used his thumb only his thumb, for his other fingers couldn't respond to grasp the black thing and pulled it toward him. Nothing happened. He pushed down. Nothing either. But wait! He pulled it up! Ahhh…a click was heard.

"Todd, I'll get that for you," said Andrews, completely flabbergasted. He grasped the door handle and— "Ahhh! What the hell?" Todd had bitten his arm, "Alright, you can open it yourself then!" Andrews sat back and watched Todd's primitive actions.

Once more, Todd tried to do something…he couldn't recall what it was he was trying to do in the first place, so he simply bashed his body against the door. It was jostled and jarred a little, but still not…what was that word? He bashed again. His shoulder hurt. But what was it that other thing tried to do? That thing took hold of this other long, curved thingy. So, Todd also used his hand—for his fingers were all functional now—and clutched at the thingy. Then he bashed the door again. No, no….his arm hurt now. Todd clutched once more at the thingy and twisted it this way and that.

Finally! The door—if it was a door—was open! Todd screamed and fell down, his upper body and face on the sandy dirt of the ground, his legs still in the car.

"Hold on Todd! I'm coming!" shouted Andrews.


End file.
